Page 5 of The Tower

Ruby shrugs. “That’s all I know. He’s here. He’s an investor, right? So I guess it makes sense.”

“Has he been talking with Father?”

“Mostly he’s been watching you and rubbing his hands together like some creepy, evil mastermind.”

I shudder. She’s exaggerating the evil mastermind part—probably—but that doesn’t change the fact that Desmond Bane has a reputation for breaking his toys. And his favorite toys are his ex-wives and mistresses.

“Father’s probably convincing him to invest another mil or two,” I say, as much to convince myself as Ruby.

“An investment,” Ruby repeats, as Mindy helps me into the next wearable torture device. “That must be it.” Ruby’s frown suggests she doesn’t believe it. Then again, maybe she’s frowning at my outfit—yet another overly sugary princess dress.

I scowl, then poke her.

“Ouch!”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“I—it’s probably nothing. Okay!” she adds when I give her the look. “It’s just that earlier today, Anita told me that he had a breakfast meeting with your father in the small dining room. She was the one serving them, and you know how they talk when the help’s around, like Anita’s invisible and stupid. So she heard a lot when she wasn’t back in the kitchen.”

“And?”

“They were talking about tomorrow’s gala. She said your father mentioned some big announcement.”

“About what?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. Not for sure.”

“Not for sure?” I repeat. “That means you think something.”

“Just—Desmond’s been hot for you since forever, and your dad wants access to his bank account.”

“And you think, what? That Father’s going to sell me? Money in exchange for a ring on my finger?” That’s absurd. Except it’s not, and Ruby knows it, too.

She drags her fingers through her curls. “It’s only—Sasha, I’ve got a really bad feeling. Can you get out of going to the gala?”

I just cock my head. She knows the answer as well as I do.

She lets out a long breath. “Well, at least I’ll be there, too.”

I nod, remembering that she’s going to be working as a waiter for the catering service. “It’s probably nothing,” I say, but even as I speak the words, I know they’re wrong. With my father, it’s never nothing.

He has some horrible new plan for me. Which means that tomorrow night, I need to be ready for anything.

Mindy ducks out of the changing tent and I’m about to follow, but Ruby tugs me back. “So? How are you feeling? You ditched them, right? Do you feel any different yet? Everything I read said it might take a while to get out of your system.”

I’d read the same thing, and so far, it’s true. I tell her how my phobias feel more potent—heights and open spaces. It’s harder to stand where the photographer wants than it was the last time we shot on the roof. “But I feel more … I don’t know … here, I guess. It comes and goes. One minute I feel grounded, and the next, I almost feel like I’m floating. I think that’s normal, though, because there’s still crap in my system.”

“Well, if anything feels really off, you take them, okay? Your father’s an ass, but surely even he wouldn’t pump you full of drugs you don’t really need.”

“I’m fine,” I say, which isn’t an answer at all. But this isn’t the time or the place to tell her she’s wrong. Besides, she already knows it. She just doesn’t want to believe that anyone would drug his own daughter just to make her more obedient.

And maybe he’s not. I don’t have any solid proof. Just the way I feel when I take the meds compared to when I don’t. And not just about how I feel. On the few days I’ve risked going without my meds, I’ve come close to remembering my mother. Not just the horrible day when she died, but snuggly moments on the couch and laughing moments as we played games on the floor.

I want those memories back all the time. And I know it’s the meds that are keeping them away.

But Ruby’s right. Nobody would drug their own child without a good reason. So something must be wrong with me. Either that, or something is very wrong with Father.

Finally, I can’t hide out in the changing tent any longer, so with Ruby beside me and Mindy holding the dress’s train, I head back into the open. Sure enough, there’s Desmond, tall and sandy-haired, with the blank good looks of old money. He’s attractive if you don’t know anything about him. And if you don’t look into those dangerous golden eyes.